


Behind Closed Doors

by AntiMaterielGirl



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiMaterielGirl/pseuds/AntiMaterielGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out in the wastes, she's his master - but behind closed doors, it's a different story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrankHorrigan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankHorrigan/gifts).



I knew what she was when she walked into that bar. I knew her secret heart - though, I doubt she would have acknowledged then that it even existed. Her nature was written on her face, in her gentle, efficient gestures. She was mine – she just didn’t know it yet.

When she bought my contract, it was too good to be true.

I have a sixth sense for these things. Her thin veneer of willfulness didn’t take long to crack under the pressure of my strong and steady hand. I can’t help it – I’ve always been this way. I’ve always wanted to corrupt something pure. To take a beautiful thing and break it, mold it, shape it, bend it to my will.

….and her beauty is beyond compare.

She was crying out for me. She didn’t want someone to take her by the hand; she wanted to be led by the wrist. She wanted commands, not requests. She wanted strength and guidance, a man neither afraid nor ashamed to dominate the Messiah of the wastes.

She is powerful, but I am stronger.

When she’s on her knees, she looks up at me as if I’m a living god; hers and hers alone to worship. She offers her body in supplication, and I take her offerings eagerly. Eyes to the floor, soft-spoken, she is sensitive to my every need, willing to indulge my every desire.

In submission she finds release.

Outside these walls I am her slave, but here, she willingly submits to me. She calls me “Sir” - as I have required of her from the first day we acknowledged our relationship. She speaks only when spoken to. She wears the clothing I wish her to wear – when I allow her to clothe herself. I like to watch her. I drink in her soft skin, her gentle movements; her breasts are soft, her limbs lithe and agile. She told me once that the contrast between us excites her.

She feels small next to me, and she loves it.

Sometimes she is willful and obstinate. She is slow to obey, or purposefully neglectful. She provokes me by looking straight into my eyes, challenging my power over her. She incites me to punish her for her transgressions. She yips in pain as my coarse hand strikes her soft bottom. It thrills her when I make marks on her that only I can see.

She delights in her correction.

When her head dips deferentially, when she shivers at my touch, I feel truly...alive. If I choose to do so, I can lose myself in her thick, wavy blond hair. When I allow her to say my name, her full lips curl around it, as if she’s savoring every blessed syllable.

Her gentle voice is sweet music to my ears.

When she’s a good girl, I permit her to come – but only after she makes her request. I love to hear her beg, to feel her quiver under my hand, to watch her beautiful face contort with pleasure. She stiffens and bucks, a throaty wail bursting from deep within her.

She lies tender and vulnerable at my fingertips.

Ever obedient, when she recovers, she asks if I desire her attention. It is then I take her, plunging into her warm wetness, her soft, supple body writhing underneath mine. If I tell her to fight me she will, but tonight I want her gentle and compliant. She positively glows when I lavish attention upon her.

She is luminous. She shines.

She finds joy in my pleasure. Her body is my tender little plaything. Tight and willing, she moans in my ear as she explores my tattered back. “Oh, sir!” she gasps. I command her to say my name, and she does – over and over again, her mantra, an angel's prayer to her fallen god.

She would do anything to please me.

I kiss her tenderly, her soft, pliant lips yielding eagerly to mine. I bury myself in her and she squeezes me tightly. As I loose myself deep inside her, I feel her pulling me closer, willing our two bodies to become one. Our limbs intertwined, a soft sigh. I hover above her - my lovely pet - and caress a flushed cheek, a dreamy smile on her slightly parted lips.

The beast and his beauty joined in passion.

When she stumbled upon me, I was miserable, true. I had nothing to offer the world but more blood, more pain and suffering. The wasteland had gotten to me; it had made me bitter and cynical, reluctant to believe that anything beautiful could survive in such a harsh world.

She is a jewel in a garish setting.

She is my precious jewel.

...and under my thumb, she glitters like the sun.


	2. My Secret Heart

When I met him, I didn’t know what I wanted. I was floundering, adrift in a world that I didn’t understand. I needed a guide and a protector, someone who knew this world inside and out. So I bought the contract, even though it sickened me to own someone.

He wasn’t happy there. I could tell, just by glancing at him.

He stood straighter and breathed deeper when we left. If he was smiling I couldn’t tell, but I know relief when I see it.

It took some time for me to acknowledge our mutual attraction to each other. Social pressure is just as bad out here as it was in the vault, and human-ghoul relationships are frowned upon. I had to get over quite a bit of shame before I felt comfortable enough to even hug him, much less anything approaching what we do now.

The first time was a surprise, although it wasn’t entirely unexpected.

We’d just gotten home, and I tossed my pack in the corner, and let my hair down. Before I knew what was happening, he was right behind me, his face buried in my hair, fingers grasping my tangled mane. I moaned at his touch. He felt just like I’d imagined – hard and rough. He pressed up against me, his heat, his size, his _maleness_ …

"I want you." My head began to swim. For a second, I thought I’d lost my mind.

“Take me.” I gasped. “Please…”

He wrenched my pants down, bent me over a chair, and he did it. He took me. He grasped my hips and fucked me like he owned me. It was painful at first, but nothing compares to the sensation of having a man inside of you, at least, not in my opinion. I’ll always remember his first command, one that I relish fulfilling even now. “Say my name!” he barked, as he thrust into me, hard and fast.

I did. Over and over, until he finished with me.

As he helped clean me up, he explained how he was. It shocked me at first. I’d heard of people like him before – people who relished control over another. The people drawn to them, I thought, were meek, subservient. I’m anything but – and I told him as much.

He listened patiently, and then he explained how I was. It was like he was living in my head. He told me that I had to make so many decisions, so many choices that affected so many lives, that it had been a relief for him to take control, if even for just a little while.  _How did he know my secret heart?_

“What if – when we walked through that door, you belonged to me?”

He explained that nothing about our relationship outside would change. Out there, I would be boss, but inside these walls he could do with me as he wished. I opened my mouth – but before I could speak, he said, “If you are uncomfortable with anything I command you to do, you can always say no.”

To my surprise, I said yes.

He commanded me to remove my clothes, and I remained naked for the rest of the day. He grabbed me, pinched me, or slapped my ass if I walked within arm’s reach of him in the execution of the duties he ordered me to perform. 

He instructed me to call him ‘Sir.’ He was more forgiving in the beginning, but I get a nice spanking if I forget now. The line between pleasure and pain begins to blur after a while. Oh, it hurts so good…

I’d be lying if I said that I don’t sometimes “forget” on purpose.

I didn’t know before this that I could yearn for something that I never even knew I wanted. But I want it so badly. I crave two words, caressed by his lips, purred in his gravelly voice: “Good girl.”

I will do anything to please him.

When we return home from the wastes I disrobe immediately, unless he commands me to remain clothed. I tend to his injuries – if he is injured. Out there, my health and safety are closely guarded and his first priority. His minor wounds are left until I can tend to them in private. He often commands me to wash and rub his aching feet – a task that I find relaxing. Sometimes, afterwards he will let me rest on the couch with him, to nap with my head on his strong, muscular thigh. This time he orders me to pleasure him and I obey eagerly, wrapping my lips around him, sucking him enthusiastically, his coarse hands gripping my hair, his soft grunts music to my ears. I moan around him, and he shudders.

On my knees, I am more alive than I have ever been on my feet.

When he is satiated, I swallow deeply and lean back onto my heels, my head bowed deferentially. He eases forward and caresses my cheek. He lifts my chin, and I look up at him, deep into his eyes – with love, reverence. His mouth opens and I quiver with anticipation. _Will I hear…?_

“Good girl.” _Oh, yes._ I smile softly.

As I lie next to his still form in the dark, his arm wrapped protectively around me, I realize that I’ve never been so happy. I’ve always been so tough, so decisive, but he never asks that of me. Not here. Never here in our home – the joyous temple where I praise his firm hand and strong voice.

Here, where my secret heart is laid bare to him.

It belongs to him, and him alone.


End file.
